Comfort
by cheeseisthebestevr
Summary: Sometimes Mycroft Genuinely Needs Sherlock's Help, and Sometimes Sherlock Gives it to Him.  AN: You should probably read THE PARTY first  Also, please leave a comment/review if you have time. It'd be much appreciated.


Mycroft was looking through Mummy's desk and clearing out the contents. Mummy had just died and he had been stuck with the responsibility of dealing with her belongings. As he was putting papers into a box he saw a piece of stationary with his name on it. He picked it up. It was a letter from Mummy to one of her friends. He looked at the date and saw that it was shortly after the hamster incident.

As he read it he had a flashback to the night of Mummy's Christmas party. He was ten all over again standing outside of the room where his mum was saying all sorts of terrible things about Sherlock only this time, the things were all about Mycroft.

Although he was now in his thirties, Mycroft was still hurt by the words his mum had written in her letter. He felt his throat tightening and he couldn't seem to breathe. His nose felt as though it was being pinched and he felt his eyes twitching uncomfortably. It is then that he realized that he was going to cry.

Mycroft Holmes doesn't cry. Telling himself this, he folded up the note and tucked it into his pocket. He composed himself and then goes downstairs where his driver is waiting for him to take him home. When he got into the car Anthea gave him a worried look. Mycroft just stared her down using as much as he knew about intimidation. She looks back down at her blackberry.

Mycroft curled up and faced the window. As soon as he got home he walked up to his room and crawled into bed. He picks up the phone by his bed and dials the only person he knows can make him feel better. Sherlock.

Sherlock was sitting at home on the couch with John when he feels his phone vibrate. He almost ignores it when he sees Mycroft's name pop up, but pauses when he sees that it's Mycroft's home number. Mycroft never uses his home phone to call Sherlock unless it's absolutely necessary. The first time Mycroft had called Sherlock with his home phone was when his partner Oliver (yes Mycroft is gay, well actually bi, but that's another story.) had been killed in an air strike in Afghanistan that Mycroft himself had ordered.

That time, Mycroft had called Sherlock and was sobbing into the phone. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft in such a state. Mycroft had always been the stronger one (though Sherlock would never admit this to anyone). Sherlock remembered his older brother comforting him until he fell asleep when he was little. Seeing his older brother so vulnerable stirred something inside Sherlock's heart. Since then, Sherlock had always answered the phone if it was Mycroft's home number, and when he did, even a thought about a snide remark towards Mycroft was nowhere to be found in that brilliant mind.

This time Mycroft's voice was steady, but Sherlock could deduce from its slightly higher pitch, slower pace, and scratchiness that Mycroft had been crying. He could also tell that he was on the verge of tears again.

"Sherlock? Could you come over? I've arranged for someone to be by your flat to pick you up. They'll be here in approximately five minutes."

Sherlock heard Mycroft take a shaky breath.

"Please?" Mycroft added softly.

"Can you tell them to hurry up? I'll be down in two." Said Sherlock.

Mycroft chuckled softly then added, "Thank you Sherlock."

Sherlock hung up and threw on his coat and grabbed his scarf as he left the flat without a word to John.

When he arrives at Mycroft's house he bounds up the stairs two at a time to Mycroft's room. When he opens the door he hardly recognizes the man sitting in the bed in front of him. The man in front of him had hair sticking up every which way. His nose looks too large for his face and it's bright red. His eyes are puffy and if the situation weren't so obviously serious, Sherlock would have found the site comical.

He removes his coat, scarf, shoes and socks before crawling into bed next to his brother.

"My?" Asks Sherlock, using his childhood nickname for his brother.

"Yeah Sherl'k?" sniffles Mycroft.

"Why?" Sherlock didn't need to finish his sentence for Mycroft to understand.

Mycroft reached over onto the bedside table, picks up a crumbled piece of paper and hands it to Sherlock.

"H're," mumbled Mycroft, "r'd 't."

Sherlock uncrumpled the paper and began to read. As he read, Mycroft snuggled closer to Sherlock. Sherlock let him.

After reading the note Sherlock ripped it up angrily then wrapped his arms around his brother without saying a word. He could feel Mycroft shaking and gulping for air. He was trying not to cry.

"My, it's okay, "He whispered, stroking Mycroft's head just like Mycroft did to him when he was little, "It's fine. It's me, Sherlock, your little brother. You're okay."

Mycroft tightened his grip on Sherlock and began to cry. Sherlock gently rocked him back and forth while rubbing his back soothingly.

"Mycroft. You were six. You made a mistake. It's what six year-olds do! I'm sure you're not the only kid who has accidentally blown up a pet. Mycroft hiccupped. Sherlock took it as a laugh. You see, when Sherlock was six, he accidentally blew up his lizard. Don't ask how or why. He just did. On accident. (he was trying to warm it up)

Sherlock gave Mycroft a squeeze then looked down. Mycroft was peering up at him with big tear-brimmed eyes. Sherlock thought Mycroft looks like a child. His brother looked so miserable that it caused Sherlock's heart to physically hurt a bit. He made a mental note to ask John about it. Surely it wasn't normal for one's emotions to cause pain like that.

"My, I can't feel my arm. Let me tell you this and then we'll have to rearrange ourselves. I'm not losing my arm because of you. You are Mycroft Holmes. You're my brother. You're sometimes even the British Government."

Mycroft snorted. Sherlock continued.

"You've taken care of me, basically, all my life. You've stood by your younger brother and no matter how stupid the situation I've gotten myself in, you've helped me. Even when I probably deserved not to be helped. You've always been there when I needed you and I know that whether I like it or not, you will continue to be there for me. You do all of that because you are a good person that cares about others. No one else has cared about me enough to deal with what you deal with and-I'm only going to say this once and if you ever repeat this to anyone I will, of course, throttle you-"

"Yes Sherlock? You were saying?"

"Right. Er. Remember. Throttle. What I'm trying to say is that the things Mummy wrote don't apply to you. You are not the person in that letter. You're so much more Mycroft, and it actually hurts me to see you like this, and if mummy were still alive I'd go up o her and tell her just how wrong she was because you are infinitely more than anyone in this world that matters. You got that? Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. Except for me of course.

Mycroft sat up then pulled Sherlock into a hug.

"Thank you Sherlock. I needed that." Then he kissed Sherlock on the cheek.

"Mycroft! Ew! Since when have you become so soft?" Said Sherlock, the humor flashing in his eyes.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to John? He's probably sitting at home waiting for you to come home. Such a good husband. Sherlock, you really ought to treat him better."

"Mycroft, he's straight. He's got Sarah, and all her mousiness to make him happy. I'm destined to be forever alone."

"Stop being such a drama queen. It's unbecoming."

"I shall be however dramatic as I wish to be." Said Sherlock smugly as he pulled out his phone.

John

I don't think I'll be home tonight.

Try not to destroy any of my experiments while I'm gone.

SH


End file.
